Covering Up, In Leather

If you shop at Velo Orange, as I do, you've seen their stitched-on elkhide handlebar covers.  They're offered in lengths for dropped as well as upright bars.  

Velo Orange stitched-on bar covers

Chris at Velo Orange insists they're wide enough to fit around both the bar and cable.  You would need that with if you're using aero or inverse brake levers.

I believe him, but I decided against installing those covers because when I have to replace my cables, I'd have to unstitch the covers.  Knowing myself, I'd probably break the thread or do something that would make it impossible to re-install the covers.

However, back in the day, I did have stitched-on grips at various times on a couple of bikes.  Of course, in those days, I also wasn't riding aero levers and inverse levers were all but unavailable.  That meant riding "traditional" levers, with exposed cable housings. To replace them, it wasn't necessary to remove the tape or coverings from the handlebar.

As I recall, two companies made stitched-on bar covers:  Cannondale and Rhode Gear, both of which still did all of their manufacturing in the US.  For all I know, both companies' handlebar covers may have been made in the same factory and were simply marketed by one company or the other.  I say that because I used both and don't remember any difference, except perhaps in the choice of available colors, between them.  

Rhode Gear stitched-on handlebar covers, red, circa 1985

Anyway, it was interesting to see a red Rhode Gear set on eBay. It was maybe a shade lighter than oxblood, a color I've always loved on leather. (I once had a jacket and a pair of penny loafers in that shade.) I installed the covers on my Trek 930 after I tore up a few other tapes, and they lasted until I sold the bike.  More important (!), they looked great on the bike, which was black.  Actually, before I sold the bike, I spent I-don't-know-how-long unstitching the covers, which I replaced with Benotto or some other cheap tape.  The pretty red handlebar covers went went to my Cannondale (Don't tell anybody!) race bike.

Of course, even if I were going to install stitched-on leather covers, I wouldn't buy those old ones, as much as I like the color.  I've already mentioned one reason:  cable replacement.  On a related issue, I'm not sure that a 30+-year-old leather cover would fit around a bar and cable.  And, finally, if old leather hasn't been stored or cared-for properly, it will disintegrate with use.  

That is, if I were actually going to ride the bike. Now if I wanted to build a "time capsule" bike, circa 1985, I just might consider those grips.  Then again, would I want to pay $120 when VO sells theirs for $35?

Getting Rid Of The Clip

Yesterday, in my post about Lyotard pedals, I mentioned the one and only clipless offering in the company's seven-decade history:  the PL 2000.

That got me to think about some of the other clipless pedal systems that have come and gone.  Some, like the PL 2000, were belated attempts to compete with Look and Time, the first widely-accepted clipless systems.  But a few others predated Look's original 1984 offering.

The original Cinelli M-71, introduced in 1970.

One that is fairly well-known, at least among cyclists of a certain age, is the Cinelli M71, a.k.a., "the suicide pedals".  I never tried them myself, but from what I've heard, they had very strong springs and held the rider's foot securely.  The problem is that, like that boyfriend or girlfriend from Hell, they didn't want to let go.  At least, they didn't make it easy to take your feet off them:  You had to reach down and flick a lever to disengage your cleat from the pedal platform.  So, while I don't doubt the quality of the product (I don't think Cino Cinelli could have made junk if he tried!), it wasn't--to use a phrase that wouldn't be current until two decades later--user-friendly. 

Second-generation M71, 1972

The first version of the M71, introduced in 1970, had a steel platform and used an aluminum cleat.  Two years later, the pedal came with an aluminum alloy platform with a big round hole in the middle, and plastic replaced aluminum in the cleat.

Contak, 1973

The year after the second version of the M71, another short-lived clipless design went into production in Italy:  the Contak. 


The name is certainly apt:  It had a much larger platform than the M71--or, for that matter, most subsequent clipless pedals.  The longer and wider contact area probably made it more comfortable than the M71, the PL 2000 or some other clipless pedal.  But, like the M71, it wasn't easy to use:  The cleat was made to slide into the pedal from the side, and was held in by a ball detent.  To exit, the rider slid the cleat outward.

Having never used one, or known anyone who did, I don't know how securely this system held, or how easily it released, the cleat.  But I would imagine that a gain in one of those qualities meant a sacrifice in the other.

Keywin, 1983

 For a decade after the Contak's introduction, there was little or no effort to create new clipless pedal systems.  One of the most notable was the Keywin, which hailed from New Zealand a year before Look's introduction.  Instead of the spring-loaded systems used by Cinelli and Look, or the ball-detent of the Contak, Keywin employed a bayonet-type locking device similar to the type found on many cameras with interchangeable lenses.  The rider, after placing his or her foot on the pedal, twisted inward to engage the lock and outward to disengage it.  A rider exits a Look pedal in the same way, but simply steps into it to engage the cleat.

Early Look pedal (PP-65), 1984

 While Look was clearly an improvement over previous clipless systems, some cyclists complained about the weight:  The first Looks weighed over 500 grams (about 1 pound and 2 ounces) per pair. Two designs seemed, in part, an attempt to reduce the weight and make a mehanically simpler system.

Elger, 1984

 During the year of Look's debut, there was a West German entry:  the Elger, which was like the PL 2000 without the spring-loaded end.  As with the Keywin, the rider locked into the pedal by twisting the foot inward and unhitched by twisting outward. 

Aerolite, 1986

Two years after Look and Elger, an American design--Aerolite--dispensed with anything at all on the outward end of the axle.  It may still be the lightest clipless system ever produced.  It offered one convenient feature of Look:  One had only to step down on the pedal to enter.  But, I imagine that to use it, one had to have a better aim than one needed for Look.  Once engaged, the cleat clasped rather than locked into the pedal.  And, to disengage, the rider tilted his or her foot.

NaturaLimits, 1980

Perhaps one of the most interesting early attempts to create a clipless pedal wasn't a pedal at all. Rather, an enterprising American introduced NaturaLimits, a system that included cleats and an adapter that attached to the body of a Campagnolo-style quill or track pedal.  I remember seeing ads for it in cycling magazines of the time--circa 1980--but never actually saw one in person.  

I wonder whether the system didn't catch on because it wasn't reliable or easy to use--or whether the cycling public simply wasn't yet ready to take another look at clipless systems after the shortcomings of the M71 and Contak. 

You've Probably Used Them, But Nobody Talks (Or Writes) About Them: Lyotard Pedals

If you have been cycling for a while, chances are that you've ridden at least one pair of Lyotard pedals.  Perhaps you still are.



All Peugeots, and most other French bikes that weren't equipped with Campagnolo components, came with one Lyotard model or another as standard equipment.  Even a few Campy-equipped bikes had Lyotard pedals--at least, one particular model I'll mention in a minute.

Lyotards were also found on bikes from other countries---yes, even a few from Japan, which probably has had more pedal-makers than any other nation.  There is a good reason why Lyotards were so common:  They offered a wide range of intelligently-designed products, and they offered good quality at a reasonable price.
 

No. 460

The three most popular models were probably the Nos. 460, 136R and 23.

No. 460 en bleu

No. 460 was an alloy double-sided, sawtoothed "rat trap" pedal popular with Cyclo-Cross riders, cyclo-tourists and bicycle commuters. They were usually silver, but for a time were offered with blue, red or black anodizing.  The 136 was a less-expensive steel pedal with curvy plates that often had reflectors built into them. It was standard equipment for many years on the Peugeot U0-8, Motobecane's Nobly and Mirage, and other lower-priced French machines popular during the '70's Bike Boom.

No.136R

 
But Lyotard's most iconic product was probably the No. 23, also known as the Marcel Berthet pedal.  You've probably seen the 23, if you haven't used it yourself:  It's the one with the flat platform and the "tongue" that makes toe clip entry easier.  It's the pedal that inspired the MKS GR-9, GR-10 and Urban Platform pedals, as well as White Industries' amazing Urban Platform pedals.

No. 23, a.k.a. Marcel Berthet

It's no surprise, really, that the 23 would inspire other pedals:  It is among the most elegant pieces of cycling equipment ever made.  And, oh yes, it's comfortable and is still a relatively light pedal, especially for one constructed entirely from steel. For those reasons, and for its cornering clearance, it was sometimes found on otherwise all-Campagnolo bikes.

No. 45

Lyotard started to make pedals in 1921 and continued until 1992 or thereabouts.  The qualities I've mentioned--good value for the money and a wide range--are probably what kept the company in business for seven decades.  However, they, like many other French component makers (such as Simplex), failed to innovate or even update their lineup.  Cheaper Asian imports took away much of the market share the 136--and, to a lesser extent, the 460-- held.  The Berthet/No.23 was seen as a "cult" item, and the development of easy-to-use clipless pedals from Look and Time all but ended the demand for high-quality traditional pedals, which included the No. 45: the pedal that came with the Peugeot PX-10.

PL 2000

Lyotard finally came out with a clipless pedal, the PL 2000, in 1989, half a decade after Look first came to market.  I don't know anyone who actually used the PL 2000, but the design looks interesting.  Essentially, the pedal is really just an axle with a spring-loaded cap on the end opposite the pedal threads.  The cleat had a groove into which the axle fit when the rider "clipped in"; the spring-loaded cap held the rider's foot onto the pedal.  The rider would slide her or his foot outward to push the spring-loaded cap aside and disengage her or his foot from the pedal.

For all I know, it may have worked very well.  And, if nothing else, it was probably a very light weight pedal.  But I have to wonder how (un)comfortable it was:  Look and Time pedals at least have something resembling platforms that provide more surface contact area.

Also, Lyotard's cleat was proprietary.  You couldn't mount it on a shoe drilled for Look or other cleats that were using Look's three-bolt mounting system, which quickly became the standard for road clipless pedals.

Even if Lyotard's system had caught on, it might not have been enough to save a company with one of the longest histories in cycling.  But at least its legacy lives on in some pedals produced today:  the Berthet/No.23 has directly inspired the MKS and White Industries pedals I've mentioned and, perhaps indirectly, almost any pedal designed with aerodynamics (or pretentions thereof) in mind.  Such pedals would include most road clipless pedals. And the MKS Sylvan --very popular with tourists and commuters--echoes, in many ways, the 460.

Guest Post: Some Come Some Go, A Few Come Back

Some blogs have more readers.  But mine are the best.

To prove that statement is not just an idle boast, I'm going to give today's post to one of those readers.  

If you've been reading this blog, you may also have noticed that one of my more frequent commenters is "Steve A."  He has an excellent blog of his own, DFW Point-to-Point.  In today's post he's going to talk about his experience as a bike blog reader and writer, the bike blogs that have come and gone and some other things he's observed in the decade or so that this genre has existed and in several more decades of cycling.

The Man Himself

So, without further ado, I give you over to Steve:



Some Come Some Go, A Few Come Back
                                              --by Steve A. 

 

I must say I've enjoyed Justine's blog for a few years now. It started not long after my own, about five years ago, but she's been more diligent about posting ever new and interesting topics. In no particular order, I tend to like posts about Mercians (I actually keep my eye open for one nowadays), vintage (I know some readers have a more recent view of "vintage" than Justine and I do) equipment, and some of the less well-known places around New York that I've heard of only here.

During that time, we've both seen many blogs come and go. Recently. I've tended to use her blogroll as a supplement to my own. Lucky for us that our tastes in what to read seem to complement each other rather than strictly duplicate things. Over the time our blogs have been around, I've seen many blogs disappear. I'm sure Justine can think of quite a few as well. I've also seen quite a few pop up and then poop out. Some, like Lovely Bicycle, have become VERY popular and some have simply stayed popular, like Bike Snob NYC. I'm not really sure what possesses people to write blogs. Myself, it's somewhat like a journal used to be. I think Justine works harder. Lord knows where she digs up some of the ancient items I've seen here.

Anyway, as I'm sure she'll agree, we have SERIOUS political differences. For example, I have never been a fan of Chicago Schwinns and I'm otherwise an agnostic about Asia versus Europe versus the USA. I guess that's why I have a Frankenbike. On the other hand, I tend to be a bit more of a drop-bar purist. I guess that's what one gets for growing up with Sloane's book. Still, I like to recall the Rodney King quote of "Can't we all just get along?"

Justine made a number of suggestions. Looking at them, I guess I mostly ignored them in this post, instead thinking about them interminably. HOWEVER, I DID pay attention to them. For example, I've got a book about cycling and traffic planning on order through our local inter-library loan. As a teaser, the author notes that "BoB" (Bikes on Buses) did NOT originate with cycling advocates, but rather found favor with low-traffic bus routes in places like Texas. Hmm.

Still, this is rather an unusual time. You see, TWO blogs seem to have popped back to life this week. They CAME BACK! I had them both in my "hibernation" area, but I saw new signs of life here. I guess some people just have faith. Those are "Rat Trap Press" and "Biking in Heels." I hope that this is some new, early sign of Spring. We shall see.

P.S. Just before I posted this, Steve hastened to add:  "My opposition to American Schwinns does not extend to Paramounts!"

Into The Fold: Bickerton

Mention folding bicycles today, and the first name that comes to most people's minds is Dahon.   Discerning (or rich) cyclists would probably mention Brompton.  

Those of us who came of age during or before the '70's Bike Boom recall the Raleigh Twenty and similar bikes made by Peugeot and other European manufacturers.  For a few days, I owned an Italian-made Chiorda from that era.

Interestingly, "folders" may be the one genre of bicycles not made by Japanese manufacturers of that time. At least, I don't recall any from Fuji, Nishiki or any of the other bike-builders from the Land of the Rising Sun.

One of the most interesting folding bikes of all--at least for its time--is almost entirely forgotten now.  However, it might be said to be the forerunner of today's folding bikes.  Andrew Ritchie said the bike I'm going to talk about was his inspiration in designing the first Brompton bicycle.

Harry Bickerton was one of those eccentric tinkerers who so often come from England.  He worked as an engineer at Rolls-Royce and De Havilland. In 1968, a driving ban made his commute difficult.  Dissatisified with using his road bike and the best folding bike he could find, he set out to combine the best features of the two.

The result was patented four years later.  It could fit into a shopping bag and, best of all, weighed only 17 pounds--less than almost any road, or even track, bike available at that time.

He achieved the feat with a hinge he developed that remained relatively rigid when the bike was opened up--and by constructing the frame from aluminum.  Also, most of the components were made from aluminum alloy--in contrast to the all-steel folding bikes from Raleigh and other makers--and the handlebars were made to be folded relatively easily.

Notice that I used the word "relatively".  In comparison to other folding mechanisms of the time, Bickerton's worked more smoothly and reliably.  However, it had to be handled with care.  As Tom Cuthbertson wryly noted, the manual that came with the bikes was one of the greatest pieces of instructional literature ever written because it had to be. 

Perhaps the most unique feature of the bike, though was that there were no welds or brazes anywhere in the frame.  Rather, it was constructed from aluminum profiles fitted together. 

Like other aluminum bikes that preceded Klein and Cannondale, the Bickerton is an example of a "flexible flyer".  Or, at least, a flexible magic carpet.  People who rode Bickertons almost always said they were great as long as you didn't mind the flex.  

I never rode a "Bickie" myself, but I suspect that its flexibility gave it more ability to absorb shock than other small-wheeled bikes.  I would guess that if you rode into one of those potholes with its own Zip Codes that we have in some parts of New York, you might have more chance of coming out of it without the mishap I incurred on my Dahon.

Perhaps the Bickerton's floppy qualities made it less durable, and might be a reason why so few can be found today.  Production stopped in 1989 and the factory closed in 1991, but bikes bearing the family name are being made in Taiwan for a company headed by Harry's son Mark.  The new Bickertons look a heck of a lot like Dahons.

Bickerton has a distributor in Mexico but not in the US.  Hmm...I wonder whether Dahon has anything to do with that.

Eat Your Croissants

According to a sign in my local Starbuck's, today is National Croissant Day.

I'd guess that the croissants are among the more popular foods with cyclists.  I've eaten them before and during many a ride.  



 


Now, they may not be a training-table food.  But a croissant has enough carbs to keep you going for a while.  And, when they're fresh, few things taste as good or have a texture that's as interesting and pleasant at the same time.

Plus, they're easy to carry in a jersey pocket or bike bag.  Speaking of the latter:  It's no surprise that Velo Orange's saddle bag is called the Croissant.

Taking It All With You

Writing my post on Monday got me to thinking about the ways bikes can be made into utility vehicles.  I'm not talking only about riding from place to place.  I mean using bikes as real, viable forms of transport.

That, of course, means carrying things while riding.  There are many ways.  I've tried just about all of them.  I still use just about all of them at one time or another.   My method depends on what I'm carrying, how far (or how long) I have to carry it and which bike I ride when carrying it.

Laura Lukitsch's video shows a few of those methods.  Best of all, she shows urban riders who are not racers, hipsters or messengers using their bikes as the versatile urban transport vehicles they are, and can be:

What Juno Actually Brought

Don't you love when "meteorologists" (i.e., newscasters who have been taught how to read weather reports off teleprompters) tell us that an approaching storm is "bringing" or "bringing with it" x number of inches of snow or rain.

The storm that first came this way the other day was supposed to turn into a blizzard in the wee hours of yesterday morning, "bringing with it" two, or even three, feet of snow.

What the storm--Winter Storm Juno, the first winter storm to have a name-- actually did was to drop about six inches of snow.  That's more than the average storm in this area, but still nothing that would bring the city to a standstill--and certainly a lot less than was forecast.

I think this bike brought more snow with it than the storm brought:

A Bike As Pure As The Driven Snow!

What's to do on a day like this?

The NYC Mayor and NYS Governor, in essence, declared a curfew as of 2300 hours (11pm) last night.  Oh, you could still go outside. You just couldn't drive or even ride a bike(!).  The only things with wheels allowed on the roads were emergency vehicles.

Hmm...If I'd hopped on my bike to rescue a cat from the cold, snow and wind, would that have been considered an emergency?

Then again, I doubt even the most feral cat is out in the elements today.  He or she has probably found an overhang or something else that will block at least some of the wind and snow.

While the storm didn't leave nearly as much snow as was forecast, the ban on vehicles remained in effect until a little while ago.  So, most people stayed home from work if they could.  And schools were closed.  So there still aren't very many people outside.  Perhaps I'll go out for a bit, just to experience the serenity.  Maybe I'll make a snow angel. Who says I'm too old for such things?

Better yet, I'll make a snow bicycle:

From Desert Rose Press

The creator of this one, Clifford Burke, assures us that it's "made from 100 percent pure New Mexican snow."  

He sounds like someone I'd like to meet.  He says that bicycles have been an important part of his life:  "They have taken me to places in America, and in my own inner world, I never imagined I would travel to".  Yes!  Even into the snow and back.

Plowing Through The Snow On A Bike--Sort Of

Well, it's official:  The northeastern USA--which, of course, includes the home of yours truly--is about to get hit with an "historic" blizzard.  

Being the New Yorker that I am, I greet such forecasts with an attitude (if that isn't a New York thing, I don't know what is) of "Oh, yeah?  I'll believe it when I see it."  Yes, even after Superstorm Sandy, I still react that way.

But I'm becoming more inclined to believe the forecast.  The flurries that started fluttering down early this morning are growing thicker and heavier, and the wind is blowing them around.  Maybe we really will get the kind of storm that usually strikes only in places like Buffalo. 

Whenever a winter storm is on its way, I think about ways of attaching a snow plow to the front of a bike.  I think the connection is the most difficult problem: It would need to be strong enough yet not burdensomely heavy.  After that, it would just be a matter of finding the right gear ratio.

I've never acted on the idea because, well, I think about it only when a big snowstorm comes along.  I mean, who thinks about snowplows in the summer?  All right, engineers and people who work in public safety might.  And I am not either.

Apparently, someone thought about my idea for even longer than I ever did--and acted on it.  Bob Beechy took an adult tricycle and rigged up the plow with various used bike parts, plastic pipe and "other miscellaneous pieces".